Dead Dukes Tell No Tales

by Catherine Stein

  24

  “Sorry.”

  Cliff looked back down at the ground, trying to concentrate on watching where he was walking. That was the third time he’d bumped into Sabine since they’d left the ship. She was going to think he was doing it on purpose.

  Truth was, he was too easily distracted by the sights of a new city. Motorcars and carriages pulled by ornate dragons rumbled by in equal proportions. Elegant ladies and gentlemen of leisure strolled the pavement, showing off their winter furs and the latest French fashions. Cliff glanced up just in time to see a woman pass by wearing a two-foot-wide hat that looked to have been decorated with a whole ostrich.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Number Seventeen.”

  “Helpful. An address?”

  “Very good.”

  Cliff shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “Look, I don’t have to go along with whatever scheme you’ve got cooked up here. If you’re not going to confide in me, I can go back to the ship. I don’t like leaving Lola behind.”

  “Lola will have a wonderful time. Nicole and Ben decided years ago not to have children of their own, and instead they dote on the children of others. You heard their plan to design a cage for Lola’s spider. She’ll be enthralled and you’d only be in the way.”

  “Fine. But when we get to this Number Seventeen, can we take a minute for an actual conversation? We still haven’t really talked about this… whatever it is between us.”

  “I’m taking care of it. We’re almost there.”

  Cliff looked up at the building beside them. The small blue number plate affixed above the door gave the address as number eleven. At least his curiosity would soon be appeased.

  The plaque above Number Seventeen was larger than usual, with a neat red border and rosettes carved in relief in each corner. The simple brick facade looked like any other building on the street, and the interior was hidden behind plain, opaque curtains.

  “A brothel?” Cliff guessed.

  Sabine grinned. “Ah, he is more worldly than he appears.”

  Cliff frowned down at her. “Haven’t I told you who Lola’s mother is?”

  “No, but now I’m intrigued. Tell me.”

  “Miranda was a parlor girl at a popular Chicago bordello. We took a liking to one another, and she became my mistress for a time. After Lola was born, Miranda moved to New York with all the money she’d saved and a plan for her future. She now owns an exclusive gentlemen’s club. Her ladies cater to the elite of American high society.”

  “And here I thought you were the type to passionately romance a farmer’s daughter or the girl next door.”

  “You’re not the first to make that mistake.” He paused outside the brothel door. “Honestly, I’d rather we just rent a hotel room.”

  “You’ll enjoy it here. Trust me.”

  Cliff shrugged. If nothing else, he was curious to see what these infamous Parisian pleasure houses looked like on the inside.

  Sabine ushered him through the door, into a sumptuous foyer with a bubbling fountain, frescoed walls, and a mosaic floor reminiscent of a Roman bath. Not that Cliff had ever seen a real Roman bath, but he imagined this room had a similar ambiance. Sparkling opulence. Gilded debauchery. He preferred the simple, no-nonsense establishment he’d frequented in Chicago.

  “La Capitaine in the flesh!” exclaimed a man attired in evening dress, with a red cummerbund and bow tie. He carried a thick binder tucked under one arm. “It has been forever! Welcome to you and your handsome friend. Come, tell me what we can do for you today.”

  Sabine motioned for Cliff to follow as the host led the way into a lavish parlor. Large, gold-framed mirrors accented the flocked wallpaper. Light glimmered from chandeliers dripping with crystals. All throughout the room, men and women in various states of undress lounged on sofas, cushions, or plush armchairs.

  “Welcome to Number Seventeen,” Sabine said.

  “You’ve been here before, I take it?” Cliff asked.

  “Yes. Whatever your tastes, they have something to suit you. They specialize in fantasy rooms. I don’t recommend the airship room. The swaying is nauseating and not at all like a real airship. But there are many other choices. A forest room with fake trees and carpeting made to resemble grass, a theater room with rows of seats where they will play opera music in the background, a prison for those who like to be subdued…”

  “Um, no.”

  “Even a pirate room that resembles a ship. Pick a room, pick a companion or two. I’ll pay, since this was my idea.”

  The maitre d’ flipped open his binder to reveal an array of photographs. “Allow me to present our menu. We have photographs of every room to assist in your selection, as well as images of the lovely men and women who work here.”

  Cliff’s gaze drifted from the page of naked women up to Sabine’s face. “This is really your plan? We whore it up for a while and then magically we’re not attracted to each other anymore?” He almost laughed, the idea was so ludicrous. All the women in the whole building couldn’t make him stop wanting her.

  She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s clear we have both been too long without intimate companionship. We satisfy our physical needs and then that constant urge will go away.”

  Now he did laugh. “It won’t work.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it will work. It’s just sex, Hartleigh. It’s a basic human desire and it simply needs to be sated.”

  “In many cases, that may be true. But this…” He gestured between the two of them. “It’s different. It has to be the two of us or we won’t be satisfied.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Because it was different with Miranda.”

  Sabine sniffed. “Yes, well, she’s obviously very talented. And probably a raving beauty.”

  “She’s pretty. But that’s not why it was different. It was better than what I’d had with others. No one else could match it. Because we were friends. We had affection between us. Fun. Mutual enjoyment of one another’s company aside from the purely physical. A different sort of intimacy.”

  Heads around the room had turned to watch and listen, but Cliff didn’t care. There was something oddly satisfying about arguing in front of a dozen whores and their customers. Only with Sabine could this ever happen to him, and he liked that. They were like the setup to some peculiar joke. A duke and a pirate walk into a brothel…

  “I’m not having any kind of intimacy with you, Duke.” Sabine poked him in the chest. “That’s the entire reason for being here. We’re both hungry for sex, and working together puts us conveniently close. Look around. The women here are gorgeous. What do you prefer? Tiny and wasp-waisted? Voluptuous? If you like my body shape, I’m sure there is someone of that sort. No sense in settling for an ordinary woman when you have an array of professionals to choose from.”

  The maitre d’ held out his picture book again, but Cliff waved it away. He scanned the room for a moment. A few of the women waved, blew him kisses, or made suggestive gestures. Happy to join in the show, he guessed.

  “Sorry, I still prefer you. And nothing about you is ordinary.”

  The longer he knew her, the more tiny things he noticed about her. The way sunshine on her hair highlighted threads of darker and lighter brown. How clear her eyes were. Like glass. A man could read things in those dark, expressive eyes. Her sardonic mouth. Cliff had long ago determined that it never curved evenly. One side or the other was always higher. Her little half-smiles were adorable. Her full grins were heavenly.

  And who could compare with her to-die-for body? The simple dresses she wore were only modest at first glance. Today’s green top and brown skirt hugged her athletic figure, displaying perfect, round breasts and nicely flared hips. If she turned around, he was certain to get a fine view of her curvy bottom. He’d been fantasizing about her legs since he’d first seen them wrapped in snug trousers.

  “Why are you staring at me
like that?” Her voice had lost much of its arrogant swagger. He would have said she was squirming beneath the intensity of his gaze, but Sabine didn’t squirm. Did she?

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “Like I’m… a raving beauty.”

  “Because you are.”

  “I’m not beautiful, I’m dangerous.”

  Cliff couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face. “Dangerous can be beautiful. Tigers are beautiful. Jagged mountain peaks are beautiful. Lightning is beautiful.”

  “Embrasse-le!” cheered a woman wearing a corset and nothing else. “Kiss him!”

  Sabine turned away. “Enough nonsense. All our adventures have played with your head. If you want the fantasy, pick a girl and use the pirate room.”

  “We also have a desert isle room with sand on the floor if you’d like to be marooned at sea,” the eager host added, holding up his book to show off the room with its ocean-painted walls and taxidermied birds dangling from the ceiling.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Pick anything, Hartleigh,” Sabine sighed. “It doesn’t matter what.”

  “I pick you. In a nice hotel room. No gimmicks, nothing fancy. Just the two of us enjoying what we really want.”

  “Don’t be foolish.”

  Cliff’s shoulders tensed. Her words echoed that tiny voice in the back of his mind. The one that said he was asking for trouble. What made him think he could become involved with Sabine without letting things go too far?

  I’m older now. I know better. I’m over silly childhood fantasies. One time is all we need. A good, long afternoon where we can revel in the wild passion, have some fun, explore one another. That will be enough.

  “It’s not foolish,” he said aloud. “It’s perfectly reasonable.”

  “Well, it’s not the plan. We’re taking care of this my way. Let me see that photo book.”

  Cliff sank down onto one of the circular cushions as Sabine flipped through the brothel’s illustrated menu. “Do as you like. I’ll be waiting when you’re done and still unsatisfied.”

  Her head snapped up to look at him. “What do you mean you’ll be waiting? You’re going to sit there doing nothing?”

  “I’d rather go back to the ship, but I also don’t want to become lost in an unfamiliar city. I can wait.”

  Sabine glared at him, her jaw clenched. “The plan won’t work if you don’t participate. You’ll still be eyeing me and touching me.”

  “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

  “Just have some fun, Hartleigh. Please? I promise you this will solve the problem.”

  Cliff rose to his feet. “Is that all I am to you? A problem?” Apparently he was a fool after all, for assuming his feelings of friendship were reciprocated. “Please excuse me. I think I remember the way back to the ship. Enjoy your afternoon.”

  He strode toward the exit.

  Never get involved with a friend. Even in your imagination.

  25

  “Now, now, chérie, you aren’t going to let him run off so easily, are you?”

  The woman who had spoken eased out of her chair and glided across the room with effortless elegance.

  Sabine nodded in greeting. “Madame Séverin.”

  The brothel keeper gestured toward the foyer. “Well? Go on, then. Go fetch your American.”

  “Why does everyone insist on referring to him that way? He’s not mine.”

  “He would have been, if you hadn’t pushed him away.”

  “He left of his own accord. It’s not my fault he won’t listen to reason.”

  Madame Séverin chuckled. “It must be frustrating for you, to have found someone who will not obey your commands.”

  Sabine’s brows narrowed. “Plenty of people don’t obey my commands.”

  “And who are they? Enemies. Adversaries. People you can fight or shut out from your life. But this American of yours, you want him in your life. I can tell because of the passionate way you respond to him. You should have accepted his offer. I expect he will pleasure you quite thoroughly.”

  “The way he handles things, he won’t be pleasuring anyone but himself. He’s completely ruined the plan.” Sabine heaved a sigh. “I’ll have to think of a different tactic. Perhaps hire a woman to go to him. That might work better, especially if we choose just the right lady. I will consult with you soon on the matter. Now, though, I ought to track him down before he stumbles into a sewer.”

  Sabine nodded to Madame Séverin and headed for the foyer, but froze in the middle of the archway when she caught sight of Cliff walking back into the brothel. He pulled up short.

  “Sabine. Sorry. I got halfway down the block and realized I had no idea which street we’d turned off of. I guess I was looking at the ground then.”

  Madame squeezed past Sabine and grasped Cliff by the arm. “Welcome back, darling boy. I am Madame Séverin, the owner of this establishment, and I’m so happy you did not run off after all. I have just the place for you. We upgraded the pirate room only a month ago. You will love it.”

  “That’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m only here to wait for Sabine. Don’t mind me. I’ll amuse myself by wandering around and admiring the erotic artwork.”

  “You must at least let me walk you about and show you some of the rooms. La Capitaine has yet to make her choice, so she will accompany us and chat as we walk, won’t you chérie?” Madame’s free hand gripped Sabine’s arm. “Never mind the photographs. I know the boys here better than any picture can convey. Now tell me, what are you in the mood for?”

  Nothing. No one. She wasn’t in the mood at all. Hartleigh’s contempt for her plan had squelched any desire to be here. She was ready to return to the ship, alone with a drink and a mystery novel.

  “Lean or muscular?” Madame asked. She led them up an ornately carved staircase and into a long corridor.

  “Neither,” Sabine replied. “I like strong men, but not bulging.”

  “Ah. And tall, of course. I remember that about you.”

  Cliff stared at the series of lurid frescos that lined the walls. Sabine couldn’t tell if he had taken a real interest, or if he was simply avoiding looking at her.

  “Tall, strong, but not bulging,” Madame Séverin mused. “I have a lovely redhead who pretends to be a Scotsman. He might suit you.”

  Sabine shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “A blond, perhaps? Or dark-haired? Yes, I think dark-haired is best. Now what about eyes? A fiery woman like yourself will want a vivid pair of eyes. Any color preference?”

  Cliff glanced at Sabine, only for an instant, but it was enough to cause a flutter in her belly. Blue like ice. But hot as molten steel.

  “No,” she said.

  “Ah, here we are,” Madame announced, throwing open a door. “The pirate room. Does it meet your approval, Capitaine?”

  Sabine peeked inside. Soft, electric lights lit the room, displaying wood-planked walls made to resemble a ship’s hull and nautical-themed decor. Several thick ropes ran floor to ceiling—a sort of pseudo rigging. The bed that filled much of the space appeared sturdy and comfortable. A chest at the foot of the bed stood open. Sabine couldn’t see everything inside, but she spied a wooden sword, a feathered hat, and what may have been a velvet coat. She inched closer.

  “So, blue eyes, you said?” Madame asked.

  “Yes, blue,” Sabine replied distractedly.

  “Wearing red eyeglasses and a dark gray suit?”

  Sabine whirled around. “Wait, what?”

  “I’ve found the perfect man for you. Here he is.” Madame Séverin pushed Cliff through the doorway. He stumbled, crashed into Sabine, and toppled to the floor on top of her. The door slammed closed. “Have fun, darlings!” Madame’s voice called from the hall.

  “Sorry,” Hartleigh mumbled. “I didn’t expect her to shove me at you.”

  Sabine gripped his coat, her hands frozen when they should have been pushing him away, keeping him tight aga
inst her. She fought the urge to spread her legs and let him settle between her thighs. She moistened her lips, staring at the bow curve of his kissable upper lip. This wasn’t the plan.

  “Are you wearing armor again?” he asked. “Even at a brothel? And why is it only on the one side?”

  His arms twitched, and she imagined him sliding his hands over her to cup her breasts, one cold and hard, the other warm and supple. Would he be horrified? Intrigued? Ambivalent? Her fingers relaxed and she pushed at him.

  “Get off,” she commanded.

  “I would love to, sweetheart, but you insist you don’t want me.” He rolled away, and the loss of his weight above her made her stomach sink in disappointment.

  Hartleigh rose to his feet and walked over to look at the box of pirate props. He plopped the feathered hat down on his head. “How do I look? Dangerous and dashing, I assume?”

  “Ridiculous.”

  He hefted the wooden sword. Intended as a child’s toy, it looked absurdly small in his hand. He slashed at the air in possibly the worst display of swordsmanship she’d ever witnessed.

  “Would you stop waving that thing around?” she groused.

  “Why? Afraid I might thrust it into you?”

  Sabine stalked up to him, caught his arm in mid-swing, and disarmed him before he had time to protest. “Enough with the sex jokes.”

  He delved into the box again, pulling out a stuffed parrot that he set on his shoulder. The stupid feathered hat flopped down over his forehead, shading his eyes.

  “Can you believe this, Polly? I make a perfectly innocent remark and she misinterprets it with her deliciously wicked mind.” Hartleigh made a fake bird squawk. “Pretty lady. Wicked mind.”

  “You are completely out of your head.”

  “Come on, Sabine.” He tossed the bird back in the trunk. “You don’t want to fuck me. Fine. But I’m sure Madame will want us to pay for this silly pirate room, so we might as well have fun with it. Relax. Play.”

  “Play.” He had lost his mind. It was the only explanation.

  “Spielen.”